I am the son of Kaunda I am the son of Fidel Castro I am the son of Nyerere I am the son of Thabo Mbeki I am the son of Samora I am the son CiC Julius Malema I am the son of Neto I am the son Lumumba I am the son Bantu Biko I am the son of Mugabe and Museveni I am the son of Robert Sobukwe I am the son of Nkrumah I am the son of Antony Lembede I am the son of Kenyatta I am the son of OR Tambo and Chief Luthuli I am the son of Konare I am the son of Sankara I am the son of Mandela I am the son of Joshua Nkomo I am the son of Wangari Maathai I am the son of Chinua Achebe I am the son of Desmond Tutu I am the son of Kofi Annan I am the son of John Garang De Mabior ...

Look at our actions defining who we are Our actions speaking on our behalf Our actions causing us pain and discomfort Our actions responsible for our irritation Our actions continuing branding us broken pieces Our actions will heal us and relief us Our actions will make us great again Look at our actions making the world a restored place Our actions destroying us Actions that liberate us Actions turn our spirits up-side-down They make us hate and love at the same time Our actions build and destroy at the same time Actions that make us poor They make us wealth They make us sick They kill us They make us hate ourselves They make us fall in love with life They make us hate life They destroy the planet They rebuild and protect nature Our actions are the enemy of humanity Yet they make the planet They kill and heal ...

A gang of pubescent boys in Johannesburg. They made me feel uncanny and bizarre. I tried to take with a grain of salt, but I couldn’t watch anymore. I saw them not playing with a full deck. Why am I the only one with rules and values? They spoke with grown-up like a juvenile. Juvenile in the slum. How lucky am I, not to be in their nest. They poisoned the city with their ignorance and nescience. Only they need is someone to remind them their merit, The merit that will make them composers of outstanding goodness. They appeared with the devilish walk, throwing words like stones. I tried to lie low, but they called me a dweeb. How will have good riddance, knowing they are gone forever? How will I rest under the light wind? Wind that shoves grass to learn and whisper to each other, Knowing that I have failed my brothers. Poem...

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